


Pulchra Lunea, Solis Ortus

by O_renishiii



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, And Rey was their leader, Arranged Marriage, Basically Ben Solo is both Harry and Snape, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo as The Boy Who Lived, But he was also a Death Eater?, Cunnilingus, Eventual Smut, F/M, Force Dyad (Star Wars), Forced Marrange, Grown Rey and Ben, Herbologist Rey, I was inspired, Like really not a Virgin, NOT a Virgin Ben, Oral Sex, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Potions Master Ben, Redeemed Ben Solo, Rey Needs A Hug, Slytherin Ben, Smut, Soul Bond, Soulmates, The Force is Magic, The Resistance is Dumbledore's Army in this fic, There's some trauma there honestly, This idea came to me after reading Nocturnal Studies and Other Pecuilar Magic, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), What is the author doing, Witch Rey, Wizard Ben, is it really forced when they're in love?, marriage law, not a slow burn, they both have ptsd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/O_renishiii/pseuds/O_renishiii
Summary: Ben Solo.Son of the Lei Organa, Head of the Auror Department and Han Solo, a muggle. Grandson of Dark Vador. “The Boy Who Lived.” Leader of the Knights of Ren.A Death Eater.A spy.A war hero.And, Rey’s soon to be husband.Or, the Arranged Marriage Harry Potter AU  fic no one asked for
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 147





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this trash! The idea came to me literally this morning and I haven't lef tmy house since, I've been working on it all day.

It was nearing two in the morning, and though 96 Diagon Alley had been closed to the public for several hours, Skywalkers Wand Shop still had one more costumer to serve. 

Rey tapped the wall three times with the edge of her stick, stretching up on her tippy toes to reach. The brick she touched quivered, wriggled, then in the middle, a small hole appeared. It grew wider and wider until a second later she was facing an archway large enough even for the biggest of men to pass through - _for a giant,_ Rey thought stupidly blinking up at the now open passage to the cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

She paddded forward, tiny feet cautious and light in the dark. The moon that shone low and wane in the sky cast a dim glow on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. They shimmered softly in the moonlight. Prettily. 

_**“Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring – Collapsible”,**_ said a sign hanging over them. 

Rey would be needing one soon. Once she finally got her letter to Hogwarts at least, but that was not what she was looking for. There were old, spare couldrons that Rey had scavenged and claimed hidden in the far corner of the basement in the Orphanage; along with some tattered robes, dried up (yet working thank you very much) quills, and unstained parchement. All waiting and ready for when Rey got her letter.

Rey was turning eleven in exactly one week and four days, so she’d be getting her letter soon, and there was just one school supply on the first-year list she still needed.

A wand. 

Rey bounded forward, missing the hustle and bustle of the busy crowd of witches and wizards that usually occupied Diagon Alley in all their colorful oddities when the sun was up, yet well accustomed to Diagon Alley after dark. She weaved through the cobblestone streets deftly - gracefully. As if she knew the landscape like the back of her hand (which she did), and had snuck into the area after hours in the past (which she had).

It was not uncommon for Plutt’s children to make their way to the magical market when it was closed and find what treasures they could for Plutt to sell… 

Or them to keep. 

If Rey listened hard enough, she could almost hear the pitter patter of other tiny feet racing in and out of the shadow, or the slosh of a disturbed puddle; even the swipe of little fingers. 

‘The Scavenger” the daily prophet called them - had been calling them for over a year. A theif that raided Diagon Alley almost periodically. Advanced enough to bypass the strongest of protection charms and security enchantments without setting of any alarms. Good enough to have never been caught. 

_“He leaves no trace, he makes no sound, and he takes what he wants.”_

How could they know that the sandman they had created was not a man but, children? 

Children who broke into shops not through complicated spellwork but simple muggle tricks? 

“Stupid,” Plutt would say at the head of the table most mornings, clutching the phrophet in a meaty fist, all fat and sordid and disgustingly pleased. “Idiots the lot of them. They wouldn’t know a real thief from a pixies arse even if it shat on their doorstep.” A slurp of whiskey. A belch. “Better for us, kiddies. Better for business.” 

Rey, unlike the others, never took for herself though. She liked to remain as honest as possible. Tried to be as good as she was able. What if somehow the Headmaster knew she’d been bad and didn’t invite her in? What if they found out and sent her to Azkaban like all the other thieves? What if nobody ever found out like Plutt said but, when she finally, finally, got to school the sorting hat looked into her mind and saw a criminal? What if they kicked her out years after getting her letter? When she was older and smarter and a real witch and the Aurors take her wand and she’s back to where she started working for Plutt? 

No. Rey never took anything for herself. She scavenged from trash cans and abandoned boxes scattered throughout the market. She stole enough for her to eat and nothing more. 

The wand was the only exception.

For six months Rey had been stealing a little bit more than usual - a trinket here, a crystal there, a wooden plaque that trembled and twitched, and a cracked mirror that whispered sweet promises Rey no longer remembered. She saved them in a box buried in the soil of the garden. Safe from Plutt’s weekly raids of the children’s belongings while she collected enough to trade for her wand. 

Rey held the box in her arms now as she caught her breath and hid behind a bush by the window of Cranville Quincy’s Magical Junkshop , clutched to her chest and guardered under the curve of her tiny form curled around it. Protecting it.

Rey peaked her head out the shrubbery and scanned the area. There were windows stacked with barrels of bats spleens and eels’ eyes. The symphony of low, soft hooting came from Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy owls rested peacefully in their cages, some with beaks tucked into their fur, others wide-eyed and staring across the way where Rey hid. Scattered stands of independent merchants were set up for the following work day; the tables stacked with tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon. And, right there, almost completely obscured in shadows, was the peeling gold letters that said

_**“Skywalker’s: Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.”** _

It took every bit of experience and maturity Rey had to quell her growing excitement. She somehow, just barely, managed to keep herself from sprinting head first toward the shop to smush her noise into the glass and root herself there at the doors until morning - panting and slobbering all over the windows for the rest of the night like the stray that she was. Instead she looked left, then right, and jogged to the other end of the road, head low and chin tucked, into an alleyway around the corner that led straight to knockturn alley.

She followed the path, kept one palm on the wall as she crept farther and farther away from the moons light, allowing her eyes to grow use to the pitch black that surrounded her. The air chilled, the silence grew deafening and the rough patches of stone under her fingertips were slimey - damp.

Rey counted the one hundred and seventy five steps to get to her destination and when she reached that number took the familiar left turn. 

Three hundred and twenty five steps later Rey took a right, until she registered a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel.

Eighy five more steps and the light went from dim to luminous.

Forty two more steps and it was radiant.

Eleven more steps after that and she stood in front of the torch, the heat of it flushed her cheeks, dried the sheen of moisture on her upper lip. The flame was bright enough that it revealed the still murky figure of the wardrobe sat right by it.

Teebo, one of the older, nastier boys from the Orphanage had left it there a while ago. He said it’s twin was placed right in Mr.Skywalkers living room in his apartment above the shop, just two doors down from what he believed to be his supply room - a room Teeto said was filled with all the Skywalkers wand cores. Thestral hair and Dragon Heartstring, Dittany and Phoenix feathers and Veela hair. Rare, valuable, expensive materials that would set up any of the orphans for life. Teebo and the rest of his crew (Nadia, Koba, Gial and Amee) have tried with no success to get into that room.

Anytime they spent the night out - staking out the shop, sneaking into Mr.Skywalker's home - they never returned home with the jewels and riches they’d envisioned. Just wild tales of elf head plaques on the walls, three-headed dogs chained to the door and a magic box that sang a dreary tune that made whoever was near sleepy. 

None of the other children dared to use the wardrobe, and even Teeboo had stopped trying, but Rey was undeterred. She needed a wand - a good one, a wand meant for her - not one of the old, hand me down wands Plutt recycled amongst the children. The ones he gave to the youngest until they grew old enough to afford their own. Rey would have no part of that. She saved up, went hungry, for months so she could have her own wand right away like all the other kids at school. 

And, now all she needed to do was get one. 

Tucking the box under her arm, Rey reached out to the wood, and pulled the door open. She slid the box with her coin in first then hauled herself in, closing the door of the wardrobe behind her. 

_1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10._

A woosh. A rattle. Silence. 

Rey pushed the door, wincing at the small whine of the hinges, and peered at the living room she found herself in. 

It was _chaos_. 

There was all the making of a normally furnished living room for sure, a sofa at the corner of the room, a long rug -dusty even in the dark - but fuzzy and cozy looking, A half empty bottle of fire whisky on the table right by the radio. Yet, amongst all the normalcy was the peculiar. Jars were littered around filled with a vile looking slime, crates stacked in corners that shrieked and rattled. A pile of wandboxes emitting smoke whistled on a particularly large rustic looking box with eyes. Various tools whizzed through the air in a orderly fashion, and was that a three headed dog? - 

Rey didn’t realize she was frozen, staring, until it was too late.

“Ahh, Maz you were right. It looks like our guest has arrived.” 

Rey squeaked and automatically lunged for the door of the wardrobe, almost successful in closing it before a small, wrinkled hand caught the door.

Rey pressed herself against the wall, curling up and hiding her face behind her palms. Her eyes burned, she choked on her panic. _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry - ”_

“Hush, child. Don’t fret.” The voice was warm, and strangely accented. Smooth like honey. “We’re not going to hurt you. Look at me.” 

Rey whimpered and shook her head, three buns bumping against wood. 

“ _Child_ , you are safe here. Look at me.”

“Maz,” the male voice from earlier warned. He sounded closer than before. “Don’t scare her.” 

“I am doing no such thing, Luke Skywalker. Remember I have been alive much longer than you - ” 

“And, that’s saying something,” the man -Mr.Skywalker - grumbled. The woman continued as if he didn’t speak. 

“Now make yourself useful and get the girl some water and her wand.”

“You know this is my home right? Blasted seers…”

Rey felt the air shift as the man turned, his grumbling growing more distant as he walked. 

“Little one, I have been waiting for you for quite sometime. Come. We won’t hurt you.” 

Rey glanced between her fingers through the blur of tears she could see a dark hand stretched out to her - plaintive. Beseeching. Somewhere in the back of her mind Rey wondered when was the las time she actually held a hand. 

She couldn’t remember. Maybe never. 

“Come, Rey.” 

So she did. 

* * *

Miles away, tall and hulking even while kneeling amongst black cloaked figures, surrounded by endless rows of tombstones - weathered and crumbling yet still erect to the left and right of him, in front and behind, a sea of the dead- Kylo Ren was born.


	2. The Garden Sphinx’s Emporium of Greenery, Herbs and other Flora.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben finally meet again, two years after the war.

A bell chimes and fresh air swirls into the greenhouse **.**

The mandrake seedlings quiver, the vines of the Devil’s Snare around the corner slinks, and the growing patch of Bubotuber Rey is watering at the far end of the emporium shrieks it’s displeasure at the miniscule change in the environment. Rey barely winces, just hushes the irked plant, pushing herself up from her seated position in the soil. 

“Hello, welcome to the Garden Sphinx’s Emporium of Greenery, Herbs and Other Flora. How can I help you?”

“Fling me off a cliff.” 

Ahh, Finn.

“Or I could just give you moonseed. It takes five minutes to crush and brew. A much less dramatic way to go.” 

“Let the dragons have me.” 

“ I really would like to go to Romania one da-”

“Feed me to _trolls.”_

“Are they carnivores?” 

A crash somewhere in the distance. More shrieks. Finn probably threw his sack onto table as per usual. “Careful with the puss on the table!” 

“You say such sweet things to me.”

Rey weaves her way around the greenery, peeling the brown gloves off her hand. “It didn’t go well with Poe?” 

Finn and Poe have been dancing around each other since their years at Hogwarts. Together and then not together, taking breaks and going steady. Rey thought after the end of the war, after everything - everyone - that was lost in the final battle the two would have gotten their act together. 

Apparently Rey was wrong. 

_Gryffindors._

“I’m tired of being the only one putting in the effort, “ Finn groans, plunking himself down on the bench by the table. His wand is out by the time Rey takes a seat next to him, swirling over the bubbling cauldron at the table. Rey reaches forward to examine the texture of the puss in the vials. She takes a sniff. They’re ripe. Almost ready to package. “ Nine years we’ve known each other. For half of that we’ve loved each other, and he still isn’t ready to settle. ” 

Time to play the devil’s advocate. “Finn, you know just because he isn’t ready to get married right now—”

“It’s not that! Ever since he started Auror training he’s been distant and his new training partner _Kaydel_...” 

Rey winces at the name snarled in the baritone of her friends usually kind voice. Poe and Finn have had their ups and downs over the years but Kaydel was a particularly sore spot. A spot that came to pass in sixth year - before a young Poe could truly come to terms with his bisexuality - on a drunken night in a dark corridor. A night where Finn, then the head boy, had rounds and pulled back a tapestry to find his best friend with his trousers around his ankles and the blonde on her knees.

Finn, after almost six months of silence and plenty of tears from Poe, eventually forgave him but never forgot. 

“Finn.” Rey sighs. How could she explain to him that he needs to move past that? Better yet, how could she even offer up any advice on what Finn should or shouldn’t do knowing she has never experienced the type of love those two men have for each other? What does _she_ know about healthy problem solving in a relationship? “ I don’t -”

Finn is already shaking his head, waving her words away, lips thin and eyes tired. Rey thinks everyone is tired now a days. 

“It’s okay, I know.” Another sigh, a despondent twirl of his wand. “I know I’m being ridiculous. Hell, with the Marriage Law in place we have to get married within the year anyway.” Rey feels a pang in her gut at that. “I just want to do it before we _have_ to, you know? I mean the Ministry paired us together didn’t they? While we were already together! We’ve been essentially confirmed as soulmates and he still will not make up his goddamn mind!” Finn buries his face in his hands which is a good thing because Rey blanches, even though her cheeks feel strangely hot. 

Is it possible to be pale and red at the same time? Can she be the only person in the world who simultaneously loses and increases blood circulation in their face? 

The words hang in the space between them, loud and echoy- _soulmates._

Not long after the war, with the death toll what it was and the issue that the Ministry realized came with pure-blood interbreeding, they put into place The Marriage Law. The third one that has been enacted in Ministry history. Which is a law formally stating that you _will_ marry the person the ministry assigns for you, which, in their own words, makes pairings that are _“the most magically compatible”_

It’s been three months since the Law has been passed, and two since the owl came with the name of Rey’s match.

Two months and the man she’s being forced to marry still hasn’t bothered reaching out - hasn’t bothered to even try. The rejection stings more than Rey likes to admit. More than it really should considering _who_ her match is. But it is a hollow prick, a hurt lessened by years of acclimating to that particular hurt. 

**  
  
**

Granted, she hasn’t reached out either, but is she even suppose to? What are the rules to this? From Rey’s understanding it’s a fact universally acknowledged that men usually reach out first, right? Ask the woman out? Then again, those are just archaic gender roles that have been passed down from centuries of society dictating the limitations of women. She could reach out first, technically, if she wanted to. 

But, what if he doesn’t want her too? What if he’s using his fame and influence in the Ministry _right now_ to annual the marriage? Before they even have a chance _to_ marry? What if Rey becomes the only person in all of Wizarding Britain with no pair, condemned to spending the rest of her life alone living in shame; her only company the plants and her time spent collecting an obscene amount of cats for companionship because she’s destined to never find love amongst wizards and - 

“It’s fine,” Finns mutters, ignorant to Rey’s inner crisis. “We’ll be fine. We always are.”

_How must that feel like?_ The tiny, abandoned little girl that still lingers in Rey whispers. _To know someone will never leave you? To have someone who stays? Not even your perfect match wants you. Why would he? Your parents didn’t --_

Rey bats the voice away and shoves a finger deep into the a vial of puss. _Nope, not ready,_ she thinks, _too warm_. 

“That was disgusting.”

“Shut up, Finn.” Rey wipes her finger on her apron, pushes herself from the table. “Just for that _you_ can prepare this and I’ll go deliver those orders to Hogwarts.” 

Finn doesn’t bat an eye, “Go ahead. Have fun delivering them to the new Potions Professor.” That last word grates out of Finn, low and scraping, dripping of acid. 

Rey’s stomach drops. Her legs turn to lead, and a deafening rushing noise sounds in her ears. _Bloody hell,_ how could she have forgotten? The news of who has taken over as potions master is all over the newspaper. It’s been the main source of gossip for weeks. 

Ben Solo. 

Son of the Lei Organa, Head of the Auror Department and Han Solo, a muggle. Grandson of Dark Vador. “The Boy Who Lived.” Leader of the Knights of Ren.

A Death Eater. 

A spy.

A war hero. 

And, Rey’s soon to be husband. 

Ben Solo is easily one of the most well-known wizard of all time. The beloved “Boy Who Lived” who grew to become a problematic child - awkward and angry and not quite charming enough for the fame he fostered. After years of ridicule and being in the spotlight Ben Solo disappeared after his graduation from Hogwarts. Then, when Ben Solo disappeared, Kylo Ren took his place.

Kylo Ren - the leader of the Knights of Ren, most lethal of all Death Eaters. It wasn’t until after the war that it was revealed that Kylo Ren was in fact Ben Solo, a double spy working with his mother to take down Snoke from the inside… or at least how the story goes. Whether or not that is true is widely up to debate. 

Of course, Ben Solo having killed Lord Snoke himself in the Great Hall at The Battle of Hogwarts, in view of everyone who was there - Rey included - was and _is_ compelling proof of the stories truth.

Rey has formed her own opinions of the brooding man over the years, considering they’ve run into each other quite a few times in the past - on the battle field and off it. 

Rey remembers the last time they were in each others presence vividly. In the Battle of Hogwarts two years ago, when they fought side by side against the other Knights of Ren. She remembers the electricity, the magic that ran between them as they dueled together. They had moved in complete synchronization. 

Even now, two years later, she can feel just as clearly as when it happened the warmth on her back as they leaned against each other for support - protected each other. The singe of the stunning spell that had scarred her shoulder. The guttural roar Kylo Ren _-Ben Solo-_ had unleashed when Rey fell. 

Rey doesn’t know how she knows, but she _knows_ he reacted that way because he hadn’t known at the time what type of curse she was hit with. For all he knew it could’ve been the Killing Curse. 

The fact that someone could react that way to believing she was gone, especially a stranger - _though he’s not is he?_ \- was incredibly gratifying. Validating. 

Kylo Ren had slaughter the Knight who cast the spell. The fact that such an action doesn’t disgust Rey everytime she thinks of it - _it does the opposite really_ \- makes her uneasy. 

Ben Solo makes her uneasy. 

And, now she’s going to go deliver him bursting mushrooms and chinese chomping cabbage, and have to converse with him, and probably get rejected by him, and marry him anyway,or maybe not marry him?

She’s not sure which would be worse. 

“Finn.” 

“Hmm?”

“ I hate you.” 

* * *

Her knacksap is enchanted to take quadruple the amount of what it is currently housing at the moment - Finn once put a full grown Wiggin tre _e_ in it just to prove he can - but, Rey still balances the two large crates of ingredients in her hands anyway, like the warfighter she is _._

It’s a mistake. 

Rey usually enjoys the walk to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, especially seeing as the village looks just as scenic as usual. With it’s little thatched cottages and shops perpetually sprinkled in white; it’s wreaths and bells, and the molten warmth of the firewhisky still sizzling in the tips of her fingers. Any other day it would feel like happiness - like home.

Today it is nothing but a nuisance. 

She struggles with the crates as she shuffles her way through the swirling snow and pushes through the haggles of students brushing past her, making their way to Hogsmead as she makes her way up to the castle. The children are laughing, joyous and untouchable in their youth as they trek down, even with the snow as slippery as it is and the wind as biting. Rey’s eyes burn with the cold and something heavy and thick has settled right at the base of her throat; she has been having increasing difficulty swallowing around it. Her legs lags as a result. She has half a mind to simply turn on her feet - appaparate back home and maybe finish up the bottle of burbling burping brandy she keeps hidden under the the sink. Just simply _forget_ everything about Hogwarts and the winter chill and ornery, mysterious fiance’s with complicated pasts and - 

“Rey?” 

_No._

Rey stops, and only by the grace of Merlin manages to catch herself from falling as her feet slide forward. 

_Oh, no._

“Rey,” the voice repeats, deep and grating and velvet. He sounds cautious. He sounds just as disbelieving as she feels. “ What are you doing here?” 

The voice is coming from Rey’s left. In her peripherals she can see, just barely, a dark figure, leaning against the railing of the archway that leads to the castle- _watching_ her . Near her for the first time in years. 

Suddenly Rey is overwhelmed. Her lungs tighten and her vision blurs. She’s transported back to the last time she’s heard that timbre, that baritone. When the castle was burning, her friends dying around her, the stench of rust and blood thick in the air and **_him_** _greyed faced and slit-eyed, draped in heavy robes stained with the blood of her allies. She remember what it is to be forced on her knees, her skull cracked open and her mind bared. She remembers pain like nothing she’s ever felt before, racking through her body in all its power - it’s devastation._

_She remembers the flash of red that came after. The cry that joined the symphony of her own screams. Then suddenly warms hands had gripped her, an unmasked face known to her filled her vision. His mouth was moving, trying to tell her something, and his eyes as fathomless as they were warm - yet also somehow cold? They were cold last time she saw him, when she watched him murder Han - stared down at her. Strangely wide… almost worried? How strange, she had thought. How peculiar…_

“Rey.” 

_Yes, that’s what he had said._ Rey thinks, _but she couldn’t hear him. Not then. Her ears had been still ringing with the echo of her own screams_. 

The same gloved hands grip her now, away from the crumbling stone of the castle walls and the heat of battle, their warmth molten on her frozen cheeks. Those same dark eyes stare down at her now… still wide, still worried. When had he moved? When did he get so close? “Rey. _Rey_ , look at me. Okay, breathe.”

She does look at him - _is_ looking at him, with his windswept locks, endless beauty marks and aqueline nose- but her eyes are glazed and the world is blurring at the edges to the point where she can’t focus. Can’t uncloud her eyes, and if she weren’t a millisecond away from passing out into the snow behind her she’d find it hilarious. How this man in front of her, as towering and intimidating as he always has been, dramatically breathing in and out. Trying to get her to mimic him. 

“Rey, _breathe_.” 

Finally, Rey takes one deep breath, two, then three and four and five more; her lungs greedy for air, despite how the cold scraped at her throat coming in. She hadn’t been breathing she realizes. How inconvenient. 

“That’s it, Rey.” Ben sighs, his fingers softening against her skin, palms rounding to cradle at her face. “That’s it. Good. Good girl.” 

Something curls at the bottom of Rey’s stomach at his words, at the underlying taste of them, but Rey can’t focus on that. She barely notices it. He’s _here._ A scant few inches away from her and she isn’t thinking about the marriage law, or how she gave him the scar that splits jagged across his face. The crates wiggling and hissing at her feet - how did they even get there? - are of no consequence at the moment and the ghosts of the past that seem to hide in the lines of both their faces are particularly quiet. Forgotten. 

All of Reys focus is on Ben Solo’s eyes, fathomless as she remembers and warm; deepened with sadness and aged with loss, staring into hers. They are different to hers, dark to Rey’s light, but there is something kindred in them. A force in his gaze that pulls Rey in, traps her in their depths; as natural and right as the push and pull of the moon to the waves. 

She had felt this force once before. They had once been in almost this exact position, skin to skin and souls bare, when the moon had hung wan in the sky, the sea glittered blue in the night on that tiny island, both hunting for the last piece of an evils man’s soul. In the maze of the island, the obstacles set in place to stop the horcrux from being found, Rey had felt the weight of a lifetime of loneliness more keenly then ever before.

Kylo Ren had mimicked that sentiment; put into words what it was to be left behind. What it is to be alone. 

_“You are not alone.”_ A young, clueless, desperate Rey had once said. Back when she had thought there was only right and wrong, good and bad and she thought choices were as easy as what you want and what you don’t. 

_“Neither are you.”_ Kylo Ren had replied, battered and worn and monstrous and so _infinitely_ sad.

For those last few years of her childhood Rey had hated him for the lie; for tricking her into taking those words and burying them in the most hidden, most sacred parts of her heart. For making Rey believe they were a promise. 

Now, amongst the snow and the students and trembling boxes, Rey thinks they might’ve actually been. 

Ky- _Ben_ must have also had some sort of revelation because he tenses and steps back, as if burnt. With a twitch in his jaw, a quick shutter in his eyes and a last scrunch of his brows he is suddenly emotionless. What was once warm and open is flinty and guarded; his expression has been hardened and smoothened - cut into marble. Rey is left reeling at the sudden change. Bereft. 

“You,” his voice breaks, oddly enough. Ben clears his throat and begins again. “You dropped your boxes.” 

  
Rey looks down at the crates in the snow, they are still hissing and spitting but, now, also steaming.   
  


  
“They’re for you.” 

Rey sounds breathless, she hopes he doesn’t notice. 

Ben’s brows lift, “A gift?” He asks, blandly. 

“A delivery. For the potions master.” 

“Ah,” Ben nods, “Of course.” 

The two lap into an uncomfortable silence, thoughts of their past and uncertain future floating in the space between them. For the first time in the past few minutes Rey realizes there are still students coming down, parting around the two adults and giving them a wide berth. 

Rey’s face burns as she notices how the students glance their way, giggling and whispering to each other as they pass. A particularly shrilly gaggle of young girls are particularly loud saying, 

“Do you think that’s the Professor's match?"

"It has to be! He doesn't talk to anyone else, who else would she be?" 

"How _romantic."_

“Shush, Laura! They’ll hear us.” 

Ben grunts, a gruff sound from low in his throat, and with a quick flick of his wand and an unnecessarily dramatic sweep of his robes he turns to make his way toward the castle, crates hovering above ground, ready to follow. 

Before Rey can muster about the proper amount of indignation at being so rudely dismissed and _left_ in the mess of students all around them Ben glances over his shoulder.

“Come, Rey. We should talk.” 

Indignation mustered, Rey huffs out her reply. “You don’t get to just order me to-” 

“ _Please_ , Rey. Please.” 

Rey follows.


End file.
